


Taking Leave

by everylemon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chocobros - Freeform, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Prologue - Parting Ways, Sad dad Regis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylemon/pseuds/everylemon
Summary: One day, he hoped Noctis would know: It had all been for him.Since the moment the Crystal had reached out to his young son, marking him for a terrifying destiny, it had always all been for him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Taking Leave

_The fetching Prince Noctis of Lucis and the fair Princess Lunafreya of Tenebrae . . . They are to be wed._

Regis’s hand spasmed into a fist as he recalled the Imperial chancellor’s demand. The rest of the council, deep in argument while he brooded at one end of the conference table, had barely mentioned this little part of the agreement. They were much more concerned with the terms of surrendering the rest of Lucis outside Insomnia to the Empire.

He let them bicker. There was little point in exerting himself. This was not a truce between two beleaguered nations; it was a boot pressed to the neck of a whipped dog. The council would take any chance they had to prevent Insomnia from being completely crushed.

That was the rub, of course. It would be crushed anyway. He knew this was a ruse and still planned to fall for it. Accepting the peace, disingenuous as it was, would put the fewest citizens between the Empire’s blade and his own neck. It might even spare the citizens outside Insomnia, since the Empire would be allowed to travel through freely.

And then there was the wedding.

To the Empire, it was, perhaps, the perfect way to ensure both Noctis and Lunafreya were within grasp, ready to be crushed.

To him, it was a gift from the Astrals: a chance to see them both safe . . . _if_ he played his cards right.

He held up a hand to silence the arguments around the table. He knew these people. They would argue for days if he let them, but they had already made up their minds.

“This is our only hope to spare Insomnia from outright invasion and save the outlying lands of Lucis from being razed to the ground,” he said, voice firm. “Council of Lucis, what say you?”

When the vote was finished, King Regis rose to inform the Imperial Chancellor Ardyn Izunia of the council’s assent. The smug bastard, who was lounging with his feet up on a couch outside the chambers, grinned lazily and strode inside to distribute the Empire’s full proposal — all 200-odd pages of it — for them to review.

After that, Regis would have to speak with Clarus. He had sealed their fates.

They needed to ensure their children lived to rise to their own destinies.

* * *

Prompto had just sniped him for the tenth time in as many minutes and was holding the controller aloft in gleeful victory when Noct’s phone buzzed.

“Is college just a cover for some kinda sniper assassin school?” Noct grumbled to Prompto as he slid the phone from his pocket.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Prompto said with a smirk.

The text was from Ignis: _Don’t turn on the TV. Be there in 10._

“Fine. Different game, no guns,” Noct said as he stared at the phone, willing it to buzz again. A moment later, it obliged: _Everyone’s fine._ He sighed and slumped back against the front of the couch where Prompto was sprawled out.

Noct was still in the sharply tailored black suit he’d worn to the Citadel this morning, though the tie lay abandoned on the floor next to him and he’d undone the top button of the shirt.

He’d been in the middle of an urban affairs subcommittee meeting when the Code A had come through. “Code A” was a sort of Crownsguard safeguard meant to prevent Regis and Noctis from being in the same place at the same time when a low-level threat was present — in this case, some guy from Niflheim apparently wanting to talk peace.

In Ignis’s car leaving the Citadel, Noctis had texted his dad: _kick him in the balls._

That had gone unanswered.

Then, he had seized the opportunity to see Prompto for the first time in two weeks and maybe not lose the only friend he had who was not on the royal payroll. Prompto had been out on a jog when he’d texted and had literally run right over. He didn’t even smell that bad, considering.

“Eos to Space Cadet Noctis,” Prompto said. “Everything OK?”

Noct made a face and handed his phone to Prompto with Ignis’s message up.

“Don’t turn on the TV — wait, why?” He looked at the TV as if it might explode. “Should we turn off the game?”

“He means don’t look at the news, because something happened and he wants to tell me in person. Which means it’s bad news.” He exhaled, frustrated. He’d managed 15 minutes of normalcy without interruption. “Sorry.”

Prompto ignored the apology. His phone had chirped, and he was reading something through the spiderweb of its cracked screen. “Dude,” he said, thumbing open a notification. His eyes widened. “Dude.”

Noct rolled his eyes. “He didn’t mean to read the news on your phone instead of the TV.”

“Yeah, but . . . Oh, shit. _Dude_.” He looked up from his phone to stare at Noctis with his mouth open.

Then, he snapped it shut, stuffed the phone in his pocket, and sat upright with a cheerfully panicked expression on his face. “Yep! You should definitely wait for Ignis! You should definitely not turn on the TV news or read the phone news, which is the TV news but on the phone!”

“What the—”

The front door opened.

Prompto jumped up with his hands raised. “I didn’t tell him!” he yelled to Ignis, turning red.

“Good gods,” Noctis said, rolling up off the floor. “Calm down.”

“Hello to you all, too,” Ignis said drolly. He took off his shoes and sat at the dining table, where Noct was already settling in.

Prompto was bouncing on his heels. “Should I go? I should go.”

“Nope,” Noct said, kicking another chair out for Prompto.

Ignis, who looked perfectly pressed in slacks and a tie but had his dress shirt sleeves rolled up, retrieved three sheaves of paper from his briefcase. He slid one across the table to Noctis and another to Prompto.

Prompto was staring bemusedly at his own name, typed on the top of his copy with an honest-to-gods stamp of approval over it. Noctis and Ignis had their own personal copies as well.

“Terms of the Proposed Peace Agreement between the Kingdom of Lucis and the Empire of Niflheim,” Noct read aloud. “Huh.” He scanned the first page, then sat back. “Specs, you have the floor.”

Ignis cleared his throat. “All Lucian lands outside Insomnia ceded to the Empire,” he said. “The Crown retains Insomnia, and the war ceases. According to my uncle, the Council thinks this will give the outlying lands respite from bloodshed and may be the only way to prevent a full-scale invasion of Insomnia, which they are not confident we could repel.”

“Huh.” Noctis cracked his knuckles, then flipped through the pages for several moments. “And?”

Ignis frowned. “Page 131.”

Prompto just coughed uneasily, but Noct turned to the page and read silently for a long while.

Then, he looked up at Ignis again. “And?”

“Though it’s not in the agreement, the wedding will take place in Altissia, at the same time the signing ceremony is happening here in Lucis. And yes, Lady Lunafreya has assented.” Ignis’s voice was calm, but a muscle in his jaw jumped. “The projected date is within the month. Gladio and I will escort you. If Prompto wishes to accompany us as well, I have obtained Crownsguard clearance for him and registered him for several basic training sessions being led by Marshal Leonis.”

He slid another packet to Prompto, whose eyes went very wide.

They all sat in silence for a very long moment.

“Noct,” Prompto breathed. “Are you . . . Okay?”

“Guess it’s all settled,” Noct said bitterly, standing up with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Nothing more to say.” He walked to the window and stared out it, but not before checking his phone again in spite of himself.

Nothing from his father.

Prompto had a possessive hand over the Crownsguard clearance, all neat and tidy with spaces marked out for him to sign, but his eyes were on Noctis. “This seems pretty . . . sudden.”

Noctis blew out, sending his bangs flying upward. He stared out the window for another long moment. “It’s a good thing. Luna, I mean.”

“ _And_?” Ignis said, in a gentle imitation of Noct himself.

“And I wish someone would have asked me.” It came out with more heat than he'd intended. His hand twitched into a fist. “Or told me.”

Ignis was silent; Noctis knew that meant he agreed. The adviser would never criticize King or Crown out loud, but the Prince and his Hand had both been left in the dark while the Council had decided the course of his life.

It was an extremely depressing thought.

“Pizza,” Prompto declared with sudden vehemence.

Ignis and Noctis both started and stared. After a moment, Prompto added, “Also, beer. And Gladio?”

Noct shook himself and pulled away from the window. “Yeah.” He sat back down. “Thanks, Prompto.”

“A capital idea,” Ignis declared, visibly relaxing into the chair as he pulled out the phone to text Gladio. “No pineapple this time, please, Prompto.”

Prompto already had the phone to his ear; the pizza place was on speed-dial. “No anchovies either,” he retorted before ordering the same thing they always got.

Noctis shoved his feelings away to deal with later. His friends would be with him, even if his father wasn’t. “Are you really gonna cut class and come, Prompto?”

“Duh, man! Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see what’s outside the Crown City?! I’m going to get some amazing pictures. Plus, who else is gonna get drunk and embarrass you at your wedding?”

Ignis snorted. “Certainly not me.”

“See? You need me,” Prompto declared, glancing back at Noctis.

Noct rolled his eyes but grinned. “You’ve got that right.”

A few minutes later, Gladio buzzed up and barged in carrying boxes intercepted from the delivery guy downstairs. “I hear somebody needs to know about the birds and the bees,” he called, loudly, while still halfway in the door. Noctis could hear a guard coughing loudly in the hall and turned bright red despite himself.

“Ah yes, I’m sure a few pointers couldn’t go amiss,” Ignis said with a gleam in his eye as Prompto snickered.

“You guys," Noctis declared, "are the worst."

* * *

Regis knew he should say something to Noctis.

He knew and didn’t. Couldn’t. He needed to keep his eyes fixed on his goal if he was going to make it to the end.

It was hard enough to call Cid with half-truths. To say goodbye, without seeming to. To give . . . something . . . without giving himself away.

The leaving ceremony, at least, would give him the words to say and familiar court formality to fall back on for composure.

And so the days flew by, an agony of mundane details consuming the time he had left. Avoiding Noctis was, perhaps, the coward’s path, but it was the only one he could manage on weakened legs.

He was supposed to see Noctis privately the day before his son’s departure, but the day conspired to keep him from it, and he let it. He needed the strength to forge forward.

One day, he hoped Noctis would know: It had all been for him.

Since the moment the Crystal had reached out to his young son, marking him for a terrifying destiny, it had always all been for him.

* * *

Noctis couldn’t quite bring himself to believe he was actually getting married. To Luna. Soon.

He kept waiting for it to hit him, but it . . . didn’t.

Everyone around him moved forward with the plans to make it happen — plans that did not seem to require his own involvement. Apparently, Tenebrae was handling all of the actual ceremony plans. The Empire was footing the bill for their demanded spectacle (and there was some rich irony). The Council was busy preparing for the treaty signing.

He heard all this from Ignis, who heard it from his uncle. Luckily, Mr. Scientia was still in the loop and had no qualms about sharing with his nephew.

Noct could tell Ignis felt miffed at being left out of discussions about the peace negotiations and finalized plans, but Regis had put him in charge of the journey to Altissia and everything else that went into making sure Noctis turned up at his own wedding in proper attire. He had his hands more than full with it. Noct had seen the spreadsheets; they were fearsome to behold.

Ignis had delegated procurement of camping supplies and weaponry to Gladio, who was the expert in that field. Gladio had taken the royal credit card straight to the giant outdoor store, filled up three carts, and checked the entire task off his list in one afternoon.

Then, Gladio had moved on to a bigger challenge: getting Prompto road-ready.

Thank the gods this was something Noctis could help with, because he had precious little else to occupy him. As soon as his father and the Council had casually chosen his future, they apparently had little use for him.

Noctis had waited for his father to reach out with something — anything — and had readied many sarcastic barbs to respond with. His working favorite was _glad I could be put to some use around here_ , though he wasn’t quite sold.

In any case, he didn’t need it, because his father said nothing at all. He didn’t text. Didn’t call. He formally acknowledged Noctis’s engagement in the one Council meeting Noctis had been called to, and later asked his opinion on some trifling matter during open discussion. After the meeting had ended, he somehow vanished before Noctis could grab his arm.

Everyone kept saying how incredibly busy the king was, and how stressed. He was leaning on his cane more and more. His salt-and-pepper mane was mostly salt. He was barely sleeping.

So Noctis gave up on resentment. He decided to focus on preparations. Maybe he could actually be useful. Maybe he could shame his father into remarking on his sense of duty. He was fine with mixed motivations.

He connected Prompto to his royal power, which was hilarious (”Dude, it tingles. Everywhere.”). He and Gladio helped him get the hang of pulling things out of the armiger and dismissing them again. They took turns sparring with him and worked on some cool linked moves they could do together, even pulling Ignis in from time to time, which gave Prompto an entirely new reason to view the adviser with awe. (”I mean, it makes sense that Gladio could chop me in half, but who knew Ignis could sever my spine in 50 artful variations?”)

He sat in on the only committee meetings that would have him — the Council was rarely meeting in full, and then only to discuss the Treaty, which Noctis apparently didn’t need to bother his sweet little head with. So he went to the agriculture meeting, and the sanitation and waste management meeting, and then he stopped because there was no need to be a martyr.

He even assented to the press secretary’s long list of PR opportunities, which resulted in monarchy-friendly press coverage that was sorely needed to help sway public opinion on the treaty. Gladio would never let him live down the fact that he appeared on the cover of this month’s Insomnia Girlz magazine, especially after he’d found it beneath Iris’s bed.

And still, nothing.

So he decided: to hell with that. He’d hole up in his apartment, play video games, eat junk food, and live like a normal 20-year-old before he got . . . married.

That was the plan, at least. In the end, he mostly just napped. Sometimes, he stared out the window for a change of pace.

The day before he was to leave for Altissia, he was finally supposed to see his dad privately. It was on both their calendars and everything: first thing in the morning, before anything could run long.

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he should be. Maybe he’d joke Regis had been trying to avoid giving him the talk . . . But then he felt nine kinds of clammy and decided he would prefer they both died never having mentioned it.

Tomorrow, there would be an honest-to-gods throne room ceremony in which the King blessed their journey; Ignis had reviewed the royal protocol with him, though this might be the one thing he probably knew better than Ignis himself did. (Just because he didn’t always follow royal propriety didn’t mean he didn’t know how to. After all, you couldn’t juuuust barely skirt the line of acceptability if you didn’t know precisely where it was.)

In the end, his dad apparently occupied a lot more real estate in Noct’s mind that he did in his. Regis was too busy, and Noctis went home without seeing him at all.

And if that didn’t bother Regis, he wouldn’t let it bother him, either.

* * *

“Well, princes will be princes,” said Prompto, hot on his heels out of the throne room.

“So much for royal protocol,” Ignis sighed.

“Not like you had to deliver a formal address,” said Gladio.

Noctis ignored them.

Out of the throne room, past the dour-faced paintings in the hall, down the elevator, through the lobby, and — finally — into the glorious sunshine of freedom. For a couple weeks, at least, there was nothing to worry about but the open road.

* * *

As soon as Noctis was gone, his friends bowing sheepishly on the way out, Regis leaned forward to bury his head in his hands.

He had hoped the leaving ceremony would be the right avenue to send his son off into the world. To say goodbye.

He remembered kneeling before his own father, sternly sitting on this very throne. He'd felt such a swell of pride as King Mors entrusted him with his own princely journey. He'd carry that moment with him always.

Well, it had clearly rung hollow to his own son.

And he should have known. Regis was ever one to stand on ceremony, but Noctis had long loathed it.

He stood.

“Drautos,” he said. “I believe this is the part where I hobble after my son for a more fitting goodbye.”

Drautos chuckled and offered an arm. They’d move faster that way. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

* * *

“Your Highness!”

Well, so much for sweet freedom. What now? A royal car wash ceremony?

His father was hobbling after him down the Citadel steps, so Noctis moved to close the distance.

“I fear I have left too much unsaid,” said Regis. Noctis reached out a hand to steady his father, but Regis waved him off. “You place a great burden on those who would bear with you.”

Here we go, thought Noctis. His father was clearly searching for a touching father-son moment. But after a month of being ignored, Noctis just wasn’t particularly inclined to give him one.

“You’re one to talk,” he countered.

* * *

Regis had never rolled his eyes in his life and was not about to start. He turned to Noctis’s companions instead. “I ask not that you guide my wayward son; merely that you remain at his side.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said the young Scientia; the picture of decorum, as always. 

“We’ll see the prince to Altissia if it’s the last thing we see." Gladio, his father's resolve shining through.

“Yeah, what he said,” Prompto chimed in, nervous and excited.

“Hate to break this up, but Cor’s got the motor running,” Noctis cut in. “Drautos, he’s in your hands.”

* * *

“And another thing,” his father said.

Were they really doing this? Was reminding his friends that it was their royal duty to take care of him — as if any of them ever forgot it for more than ten minutes — not enough?

“Do mind your manners around your charming bride to be.”

Fine. They were doing this.

Noctis went in for a bow. “Your Majesty as well. Try to mind yours around our esteemed guests from Niflheim.”

“You have no cause for concern.”

“Nor do you,” Noctis said. And he didn’t. Being a brat to his father was one thing; Luna was quite another matter.

“Take heed. Once you set forth, you cannot come back.”

As if. In a few weeks, he’d be back and probably never leave the city again. He'd take freedom where he could get it. “You think I would?”

“I need only know that you are ready to leave home behind.”

As far as Noctis was concerned, he'd left home when they'd locked up the apartment for the last time this morning. The Citadel hadn’t been home in years. Especially not wandering the halls yesterday, packing up his childhood things and waiting fruitlessly for his father to spare him a moment.

“Don’t know about you, but I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned to leave. Again.

* * *

Regis wouldn’t let him.

He needed one more moment. One more look at his son’s face. Something to take with him.

“Take care on the long road,” he managed. “Wheresoever you should go, the line of Lucis goes with you."

Noctis was finally looking at him now. Blue eyes. His mother’s. Regis reached out a hand for one more touch.

“Walk tall, my son.”

* * *

Ah, there it was, Noctis thought. The moment Regis had been waiting for.

Well, if Regis got his moment, Noctis would take his, too.

He leaned in and hugged his father before the King could react. It was brief, and probably also their first hug in five years.

“Love you, too, Dad,” he said with a final wave over his shoulder.

And then, the moments were over, and he was _free_.

* * *

Regis watched the car go. Then he smiled and turned to face his own fate.


End file.
